


Requiem for a Dream

by EnemyMine



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e07 Requiem, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnemyMine/pseuds/EnemyMine
Summary: In the aftermath of "Requiem" and Tony's dive into the Anacostia Gibbs is forced to make a choice: Tony's health or life as he knew it.





	Requiem for a Dream

The moon shone bright tonight. Right through the window of the second story bedroom, which once had been a guestroom. No drapes hindered it, as it softly illuminated the walls. The street lay silently below at this hour. This neighborhood had always been relatively quiet. That had not changed even with wives coming and going and shot assassins. The world had changed. Everything had changed, since a young man and his newly-wed wife had moved into this house so many years ago.  
It had originally been too expensive for them, but both had just fallen in love with it. Since it had fallen a bit in disrepair they were able to lower the prize. From then on many a free moments had been spent sanding, exchanging slats, painting, taking care of the old plumbing and renovating the rooms. Until it had shaped up into the house they had always seen in it. By then they had been three. The perfect American Dream.

Those days had long since passed. The child's room had not been opened for a decade and a half, the bedroom was turned into storage. Nowadays the whole house had a particular unloved, but lived in feel. The furniture was very basic and pretty worn by now. Decorations didn't exist, no rugs, no pictures. Signs of life were a bicycle which was moved around the first floor, a basket full of freshly laundered clothes, a key absentmindedly thrown onto the table next to the door, some empty bottles in the recycle bin and the ever present smell of sawdust and coffee, that permeated the air.

In this second story room, which had once been a guestroom, things looked a bit different. A small closet and drawer were filled to the brim, small knick-knacks were strewn over the available surfaces. Watches, cuff links, some spare change, wallets, badges, some odd books about a wide range of topics. Additional pillows lay on the floor, the afghan was crumbled at the foot end, the duvet was squished into a very interesting shape. Clothes were dumped on the chair in the far corner. It was uncharacteristically chaotic, but homey and just right.

Like the soft snores from the right side. Finally. Earlier it had appeared as if nothing would ever be right again. It had taken so long for him to calm down. Still the practiced observer could tell, that he was still troubled even while asleep. This would stay with him for a long time, no doubt about it. Not only because of his near eidetic memory.

Oh, wasn't he underestimated! But he still could remember minute details from events that have happened years or even decades ago. A very useful skill in his line of work. Something that helped him become one of the very best. Of course it would be nothing without his instinctive ability to draw the right conclusions and rat out the smallest connections. Instinct, gut, whatever you wanted to call it, this man had it in abundance. Together with "the bite", the willpower to simply not give up before he was sufficiently satisfied procuring results, it made him so very special.  
A lot of people had one or the other. They made it okay in their line of work. They put in the effort, they too wielded results, but it would always be a battle for them, would never come as easy. They would also never go the extra mile. Not like this man.

His chest raised and lowered in the rhythm of his breathing. Calm now. Undisturbed. Easy. This too had taken a long time.  
His lungs were not what they used to be. Still above average, which was a wonder in itself and only thanks to an extraordinarily athletic life. Years spent preparing for a career in professional sports until an injury had put a stop to those dreams. But he had never stopped staying more than just in shape. He had not allowed himself to be dragged down, had still valued an above average stamina, and it had served him well. Even saved his life. More than once. And others. Still the exertions of the day had left him with labored breathing for a long time. If he was lucky, it would be only that. If not, he would have to take a couple of days of medical leave. The risk of pneumonia was just too real.

Oh, it had been worth the risk. But it would have also been unnecessary, if he had only been given one small hint. A subtle sign, like a tilt of the head or a gaze. It's not like he would not have understood. He always did, even when no one else noticed. And he always supported, even if sometimes in a very underhanded way, which looked as if he was in fact an opposing force. But giving opposition was sometimes exactly the right kind of help. Something he knew perfectly well. It's not always about what you want, but what you need.  
The sign had not come and so he had been forced to clean up after the fact in a spectacular way. One man did the work of an entire team and still tomorrow people would have gone back to underestimate him again. That was exactly the way he wanted it. Looking like the underdog, when in fact you were truly close to being the biggest dog in the yard. Made life easier, when you were not constantly facing headwind. Simple strategy.

But this had been too close a call. Too much depended on luck and not skill. Luck to be at the right place at the right time, luck to get through the danger zone untouched, luck to get them out, luck to be able to apply just the right amount of aid to bring them both back from the brink. Next time it might run out.

This thought had repeated itself on rotation for hours and had been also responsible to keep the man awake. Close to hysterics. Labored breathing and all. It had been the first time for a breakdown like that. It was not his habit to show his emotions like that. Or to even allow himself to feel them. Too many psychological traumas from all kinds of ages. Not that a lot of people knew about that. Another layer of protection if you will.  
But once he allowed himself to truly feel, once he allowed someone to witness the depth of his soul, it was a thing of incredible beauty. Fragile, but oh so strong. Only a handful people had ever been allowed to witness it. Only two were currently alive. And he would not let anyone else in like that ever again.

Beautiful. A word that came to mind a lot of the times. Of course men usually did not like to be referred to like that. Handsome, dashing more like. Beautiful was used to describe women, art, nature, not men. But if a body was beautiful, why not call it that way?   
The man was beautiful. Inside and out. Damaged, yes. But it only added to the beauty. Made him even more attractive.

He was attracting people left and right. All kinds of them. It was part of his charm, that he didn't executed an air of discrimination. Everybody was welcome, no one was judged. Not by their cover at least. They would never see the real him, but they would all feel like they had been privy to it. He was capable like that. Unique like that. Another part of what made him so great at his job.

The moon lights his face now. The lines of sorrow have finally faded in his sleep. The day would come, when they would remain behind as constant reminders. Even he would not stay forever young, no matter how much he made everyone believe just that.   
He had already changed a good deal in the past years. The hair was shorter, the clothes less casual. No more tube socks. The smile didn't come as easy anymore. But every time he showed it, it really counted. The eyes were hardly twinkling with real mirth like back when this new period of his life had started. At least not in public.

His public face was so different. Still true of course. Be always specific if you lie. No lie is more specific than one that is hidden deeply beneath truths. One small thing amongst dozens and no one will look too closely.   
Being an overgrown Peter Pan in a world of fully grown men with balls of steel – a lie amongst dozens of truths. Past experiences amplified. Today's events exaggerated. The lie lay in the emotion behind it. He could make everyone including himself belief in it to maintain the cover, but he would never put aside a small emotion that lay foundation to so many decision in these past years. One had to dig very deep to even get close to it. Layers above layers. An enigma, hidden in a secret, shrouded in mystery.

The naked chest rises and falls. Some sweat is cooling amongst the coarse hair. He always sleeps naked, if not ordered not to. No need to try and break that habit. The room is at a nice temperature, despite the cold air outside. The heating is always running during the nights, he makes it to this bed. Which is not often. Another hidden truth amongst a layer of deflection, a cloud of obfuscation and the lie everyone wants to believe.  
Still it has been years and there will be more to come. He has long since stopped struggling against it. Sometimes the fight still flares up, but it always ends with a spectacular defeat. That is just like things have to be for now.

Then. Now. Maybe forever. In his line of work, you'll never know, if you would be one of those who came out on top. Who came out alive and well. It is not the kind of profession where it becomes more likely the closer you come to retirement. Quite the contrary actually. When stamina fades, muscles vanish, joints hurt, senses fade, reflexes slow down, chances of dying multiply. They all live with this reality. Today might be all they ever would have.

Today could have been the last day. If it hadn't been for him, it would have been the last day. It still might be. If pneumonia sets in, the scarred lungs would be not able to offer resistance. His temperature has risen over the last hours and is now bordering on dangerous.   
Maybe still the last day. Only not like they always have thought. If the fever does not break soon, the need to share the secret with another person becomes prudent. Which will make it a secret no more. The last day.

The chest rises and falls. The emotional turmoil of earlier has passed. Now the physical problems start. The breathing is becoming heavier, like a weight is pressing on the chest.  
Roles are reserved now.

The cell phone is laying on the nightstand. Never be unreachable. Numbers are programmed. Help is only the push of one button away. Modern times.  
Could they be modern enough to withstand this test? Could THEY withstand the test?

He starts mumbling. Not a good sign. He is now officially burning up. No time for those questions anymore. The time has run out. Soon the truth behind the lies will be known. They have survived six years, catastrophes and illnesses like this. Now they would have to prove if they could survive another way.

I remember the consequences of high fever from the basic medical training I received in Camp Lejuene. Dehydration, tissue damage, hallucination....  
No matter what else will happen from now on, Tony will be embarrassed either way. He hates not being in control over the picture he paints for the observer. Well, at least Duck will never breach doctor-patient confidentiality. He will not even outright tell anyone their secret. But he is number three, and there will be signs and inconsistencies of the "wink, wink, nudge, nudge"-kind. No, it's going to be better to just face the shooting commando right away.

Internal Affair is going to be a bitch. Tony has been groomed to be my successor from day one. It's going to be questioned. They will suspect sexual favoritism and wouldn't that just be great after all these years to have figured out why this ex-cop was able to break every record on my team? They will be disappointed.   
Tony and I have not slept together until about a month before we found Kate. And we had not planned that either. That damn woman and that damn op in Spain and then Tony's boiler blew and he needed a place to stay. It just happened. And it didn't again, until Tony's boiler blew a second time half a year later.  
People won't care about the facts. That we never cheated on any of the women, we've been with in those years. That we have not in fact "made like bunnies". And with Jenny being director, we really don't stand a chance.  
Tom Morrow would have judged us like we are. Jenny's still pissed, that I refuse to rekindle that old flame, that she doused with a very painful bucket of ice water. And that Tony in the end trusted me to take care of him and the whole Benoit debacle, she forced him into in my absence. She'll never be the boss of him. She's only the director and those come and go.

Regulations state that we can't have, what we both want. So I guess, I will have to file that retirement package for real this time. No way, I'm going to let them sent Tony someplace. Not after he is already co-boss of the MCRT.  
Well, the kids don't know that little bit. But honestly, could anyone imagine Tony being promoted, so he could lead this team without having a new team leader, even if only TAD assigned, and then demoted on the only ground of "Gibbs is back"? No, technically he holds the same rank as me, he just doesn't execute it while I'm there. So, even if he's not technically my subordinate anymore, he's still on my team. And that's a problem according to regulations. Some nonsense of lovers being unable to make the hard choices for each other in the field. Or favoring the other with assigned tasks. They don't know Tony and me!   
The reason Tony is my second and designated successor is that he is the best damn agent I have ever worked with! Including myself! He's a natural investigator, where I needed to learn to be one. He's better at undercover work and with his age, he's able to portrait a wider range of characters. He's better at politics, if only because Tony naturally likes to connect with people. Him being a bastard is more effective than my second B, since he uses his so rarely, so if he does it really counts. He still adapts reasonably well to the technological progress. And that's just the short list.   
I never favored him. Quite the contrary. Of all agents I have ever worked with, I have worked him the hardest. Because my expectations of him are that high and I know, he will deliver and grow with the challenge. He's still not at his limit and I wish, I could be there, when he finally reaches his full potential.

Well, I still have that retirement package that needs to be filed. There's also the pension from the Marine Corps. The house is paid in full and the only ex-wife, who still gets money from me is Stephanie. Number Two never got anything, thanks to the golf club to my head. And Diane's surname is now Fornell. I warned him.

A cough. It's official. Tony is threateningly sick. It's my fault. He saved Maddie and me, after I endangered us all. Why haven't I told him, what I suspected? Why have I driven that car backwards into the Anacostia instead of pulling it around and simply trying to put distance between us? Why have I kept him on distance again, only because it touched my past?

Never again. 

I push the button.

The call connects.

"Jethro, don't tell me, you already acquired a new guest for one of my drawers after the day we all had."

"I hope not, Duck. It's Tony."


End file.
